Friday, i invited my girlfriend to a romantic dinner at home wich i wanted to be very special, something for us to remember. It was our fourth aniversary.

She arrived & we made love into the shower; lighted the candless, sat at the tabe & had a very special dinner wich i´d been preparing during almost all the day. First, rice cooked the cauldron way (with real sea flavour on it), then some octopus carpaccio from a russian recipe (with salted paprika), & a bottle of Riveiro (white wine from the North of Spain.After a lemon sorbet for dessert, i openned a bottle of Champagne & left in front of her my gift: a little blue box wich she took in her hands & opened with sparkling eyes, into the box there was a note, she took it & read: "Your mother fucks better than you"

Yeah! This week i´ve been trying new & imaginative ways of commiting suicide.

For example, last saturday night i went out & tried to drink the same quantity of alcohol as an english man. I was almost near to dead, but somebody took me to the hospital.So, this morning i´ve tried to have the same breakfast as an english man, but i´ve ran out of food, & that´s another failure.

Today i´m going to call the USA (not all, just Washington) & going to tell them i´ve discovered oil under my house. That will be a success, i guess.

@Rachel, Wells was an egomaniac, & a liar, one of the best in making people belive what he wanted them to belive, so you shouldn´t take as reality a word coming from him... & about the youth success matter... fuck teen vampires!Wanna tell you i love your posts, & really enjoy reading them : )

Tell me about your week. Just a fucked up week all around. My job sucks. My life sucks. But, especially, my art sucks. Waah, waah, waah. I haven't been in a mood like this since I quit drinking 10 years ago, and I haven't missed it a bit. The onset is because my wife quit her job, which was really affecting her health, and our relationship, so that's great, the bad part is the new job has severely less hours, and we still have her student loans and other bills to pay. Thinking about it really has me set in a not very good place/mood right now. I'll come out of it, but right now it sucks ass.

My week? Nothing too exciting but quite pleasant all the same, easy, long distance stuff with some quite spectacular scenery, moody clouds and patches of sun lighting up the trees in the foreground. I'm wondering if i can bodge up some kind of portable dashboard camera mount involving scavenged CCTV brackets, remote shutter switches and blutack, a short, vehicle mounted version of the camera on a stick project. Keeps me busy.

Driving past Cardiff on Tuesday tugged a few heartstrings, moping does no good though, life goes forward, there is no reverse gear.

Got some kind of new fangled virtual bass amp thing on order at a local musical equipment shed, might splash out on a new (cheap) bass to go with it.

Something filthy, strange and wonderful? Nope, nothing at the moment unless you count the new toilets in Pitmans Close, which were pretty grubby and had some rather odd people hanging around. The closest thing to wonderful was a load of cheap bread after a bakery job on friday, got a couple of loaves as a prezzie for KK. That's about as exciting as life gets these days - and you know what? It's actually not that bad.

Personal Messiah? yeah, why not?

Patagonian love monkey? Strictly no pets sunshine, if it comes round here it'll get a bloody good spanking...

There's a truth that goes beyond fact, a power beyond a massive electrical surge. There's an immediacy that is eternal. There is an artform that is made out of the essence of that which makes a human.

That moment in an otherwise empty stage when an actor embodies the truth, a moment that is fiction and yet resonant to anyone paying attention, when the whole audience is experiencing the same condition, that is when communion occurs. Everyone present observes the same instant and the details go beyond the ken of the five senses. The actor and the audience member's eyes meet, tiny hairs along the body stand on end and you are, profoundly, more truthfully with someone than almost any intimate moment can achieve.

That is what i strive for in my chosen artform. I do theatre. I live for the perfect transient moment when we're all in it together, to the utmost. I do whatever I can, whenever I can to create those moments again and again.

Just got back a few hours ago from a retreat in the mountains with my theatre company. IT was absolutely perfect for remembering just what drives me to do theatre. It's hard to express the above - usually I'm stopped by the sense that it's just too... I don't know, fuzzy? gooey? Artsy fartsy? But riding the high of the retreat, for a little bit, I don't care. I fucking love those moments when, without looking, I can tell that the entire audience is tense, holding its breath, on the verge of weeping or exulting or convulsing with fear reactions. It's only a split second. I can't tell what anyone is thinking on a regular basis, and I can't claim to really know even in one of these moments, but broadly there is a flash of just knowing, of being so close to someone that I know what you're about to say sometimes and taking immense pleasure in hearing you sound it out.

Nothing can invoke truth like that. Only live performing arts. But where dance and music have their time scales and the audience moves with the measures, good theatre artists listen deeply to the currents in the audience and respond to them. Hard, maybe impossible to do it consistently. But it's the only worthwhile expression of drama.

That's all I got right now. It's been a long weird week, but Saturday was all about theatre. It scoured my soul of the grime from money and work and family bullshit. Left me a bit raw, you could say.

And Warren, as for why you go over and above "a writer I dig" - check out #TeamWhitechapel on the Twitters.... Fucking terrific group of weirdoes and nerds, all of whom I've never met and whose tweets I look forward to. You did that. Thank you.

Parents were in town this week. Well, only from Monday night through Thursday afternoon. I was definitely glad to leave them at the airport. We have eight television channels, Dad, and the TV doesn't have to be on in order to keep ourselves entertained. Shocking, I know. And I love my mom, but her being convinced that my daughter will somehow burn in an imaginary pit of fire for all eternity because she's not baptized and isn't in Sunday school at the age of 4 is getting pretty fucking annoying. Explaining why having nice public buildings to look at is a good thing was pretty fun, too. ("Why do they have to spend so much money on a 'pretty' library? Shouldn't it just be a concrete box for storing books in?" NOBODY WENT TO THE OLD LIBRARY BECAUSE IT WAS A FUCKING CONCRETE BOX.)

Stopped at Half-Price books and picked up Stephenson's Snowcrash and a couple video games (Mario 2 for NES and Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest.)

Oh, and there was the inspection on the new house. That was pretty uneventful, and we didn't really learn anything we didn't expect to. We're really hoping this hurries up and ends soon. I just want to be out of this one and into the new one and never have to move again if I don't want to.

But mostly the week was pretty uneventful. Nothing to really bitch about aside from my parents being stupid, and that's something pretty much everyone can bitch about at some point.

Tell me something filthy, strange and wonderful.

Been listening to a lot of Gaga this week. I think that qualifies as all three. And to the people that bitch about Gaga being disposable pop garbage, I say SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN TO THE DRUM LINE ON BAD ROMANCE.

Ugh, just got a call from my estranged father. It was his semi-annual "shit, I need details so I can pretend to know what my daughter is getting up to" phonecall, and he tried to tell me that they'd found "The language gene".

I've mentioned before that my majors are psychology and linguistics, so I've got a couple of years of reading up on language and thought under my belt. Suffice to say, in case you have any doubts in the matter, any comment suggesting that there is a single gene responsible for language is utter horseshit.

Oh, and speaking of "love monkeys" (though these guys are from the Congo)it occurs to me I forgot to mention something filthy, strange and wonderful before:

Bonobos are a kind of ape, closely related to the chimpanzee. Linguists and psychologists like to try to teach them sign language, (which is why I've heard of them,) because they are very, very intelligent apes.

You might be wondering at this point why then, you've never seen any of these Bonobos at the zoo.

Simple reason: they spend pretty much all of their spare time masturbating and/or having sex for fun. They can't get enough of it.Wiki A casual google image search is quick to back this up.

"Sexual intercourse plays a major role in Bonobo society observed in captivity, being used as what some scientists perceive as a greeting, a means of conflict resolution, and post-conflict reconciliation. Bonobos are the only non-human animal to have been observed engaging in all of the following sexual activities: face-to-face genital sex, tongue kissing, and oral sex..."

Tell me about your week. I posted this somewhere already, but it still stings. My ex-girlfriend/mother of my kid decided to start telling people I raped her some time ago. Not only is that completely untrue, but man, it hurts. Haven't had a relationship with the woman in over ten years, and apparently she has re-written history. She also claimed that I had attempted to rape one of my best friends, and that I am some sort of monster that the world needs to be rid of.

Now, occasionally I am kind of a dick, but I've never assaulted a woman. Never even liked the idea of rape-fantasy. My friend who was included as one of my imaginary victims, was pretty insulted. I had a few friends come to my aid and make me understand that I'm okay, and that this falls under "crazy ex-girlfriend syndrome."

The part about it that upset me, is that you have someone that you spent a number of years with, enjoy so many experiences, sex, drugs, music, (THE KID) etc, and all of a sudden one day, they decide you are a monster and that there are no good memories anymore. Right after a break-up you expect that sort of thing, but ten years later, after being roommates for a while, moving apart and becoming friends again, going out, seeing bands, and just plain being friends for the kid's sake, and then one day, it's like *poof* there's nothing left of a friendship from 15 years ago. Having that taken away is like having an old friend die. I'm in mourning for my friend. My "ex" I could care less about.

Tell me something filthy, strange and wonderful.

I learned my problems are no big deal, compared to my friends who stopped what they were doing to take care of me. And they have real (life threatening) problems. Very humbling. Trying to learn not to whine so much.

Because since I have come to this forum, this community, I have learned more in the past couple years than I had thought possible. A day doesn't go by where I walk away unimpressed by everyone here. Thank you for allowing me to be a (small) part of Whitechapel.

Tell me about your weekI worked, it was boring, I ended up reading all 26 columns of "Do Anything" while at work one day (you were right, Ellis, it reads much better as a collection than as a weekly piece. Where's the second one?) I left work early to attend my friends' wedding. It was a beautiful night, they're two of the only people I know that I think should be together, and I realized that I have a lot more respect for the groom than I thought. Not that anything happened last night, it was just something that I noticed. I also met one of the more interesting people in my life last night. Her boyfriend was in the wedding party so she sat at a table of strangers but was probably talking more than anyone else. I've also been reading Morrison's run on Batman. I like it so far, and I hear it only gets better and better.

Tell me something filthy, strange, and wonderfulPart of one of the speeches last night: There's 4 stages of sex in a marriage. (I'm sure most of you have heard the first three so I'll shorten them a little) The first one is anywhere sex where you have sex as often and anywhere you can imagine, the second stage is bedroom sex where it's in the bedroom, on the bed, missionary, blah blah blah, the third is hallway sex where you pass each other in the hallway, the guy asks for sex and the woman says "fuck you", (now for the one I hadn't heard) the fourth stage is the S&M stage. She sleeps and you masturbate.Now, this was the guy that was the best-man at my wedding, and this was a very toned down speech due to the bride telling him that he would cut off his other ball if he said anything inappropriate. The speech his best-man made at his wedding was x rated (and that's an understatement.) There's a reason I told him he didn't have to make a speech, and a reason why when he got up to make one anyway I dove for the mic and turned it off. He ended up to give a very nice one though 'cause he'd had his fun and didn't know how anyone there would react to something different.

Tell me exac- MONKEY!Sorry, skipped ahead and got distracted. Monkey monkey monkey monkey. Funny story about that: A friend of mine was once in an elevator completely distracted and stood there bouncing up and down saying "monkey monkey monkey monkey" over and over and over for most of the trip down. He suddenly realized that there was another person in the lift with him, looked over and saw a very angry looking black man. He tried to apologize and explain, realized that it would get him nowhere and slinked off the elevator as meekly as he could.